TTT Interviewee: John Ferrone Session #2 Interviewer: Judith Weinraub New York City Date: March 5, 2009 Q: I’m with John Ferrone in his home in Greenwich Village, and this is our second interview. Good afternoon. Ferrone: Good afternoon. Q: You know, one of the things that we didn’t speak about the other day was the circle of people around James Beard, and I assume that you knew most of them, at least the ones that were regular participants in his life. Ferrone: Well, I would encounter them at his cocktail parties. Q: You would encounter them at his cocktail parties? Ferrone: Yes. Of the people surrounding him, I probably knew best Helen McCully, who was then food editor of McCall’s, and Cecily Brownstone, who was food editor for Associated Press, and there was Alvin Kerr, who worked for Gourmet. There were the Aarons. Q: What was her name? Ferrone: Florence and Sam Aaron. Then there was Jack Aaron. Jack didn’t come to these parties. It was Sam and Florence. Q: Jack was a son? Ferrone: No, Jack was a brother who ran Sherry Wine and Spirits, as it was then called. Q: And when you say you would encounter them, that means at dinner parties? Ferrone: Dinner parties and cocktail buffets, both. Q: Which did James prefer? Ferrone: Oh, he liked his buffets. It was a great roundup. It would be quite a number of people, although I have been to dinner parties at his place when he had eighteen people as guests. Q: How did that work? Ferrone: Very well, amazingly enough. I think I wrote about one early dinner that I recall when he was still at 36 West 12th Street with a very limited kitchen, notoriously limited. He had a cranky little gas stove, no kitchen sink. The kitchen sort of intertwined with the bathroom along a kind of hallway, and he had to do dishes in the bathroom sink, but he preferred to do dishes sometimes in the bathtub. He said he would wash the dishes in the sink, or at least soap them in the sink, put them in the bathtub, pull the shower curtain closed, and turn on the shower. This, of course, was when he had enormous dinner parties and there were a lot of crockery to be cleaned. Q: Did it work? Ferrone: It worked, and sometimes the bathtub was used as a giant cooler for champagne. Anyway, there was one party which he served a lobster dish en croute, which was pretty ambitious for eighteen people, and Craig Claiborne was at that party, I remember, because he helped with the puff paste. But there were other dinner parties of that magnitude. Q: How did he do the seating? Was it casual, or did he think it through? Ferrone: Well, eighteen people couldn’t have sat down very easily in the studio apartment he had. Q: Oh, of course. Ferrone: It was a largish room, but even so, you couldn’t seat eighteen people. I suppose we carried a plate around with us. Q: There wasn’t like a sideboard or— Ferrone: There was no sideboard. He had a rather large marble-top table, his dining table, I suspect. That was where the food was arrayed. I talked about his cocktail buffets in which he liked to have rather substantial kinds of food rather than bits and pieces. Q: Was there ever anything in the way of help? Ferrone: Oh, he had help, yes. There was always his houseman, Clay Triplette, who’s still with the James Beard Foundation. He hired Clay, I think, in 1959, and Clay was with him until he died, and he’s still there as a kind of representation of the good old days. Q: What did he actually do for Beard? Ferrone: Well, he was called a housekeeper on occasion. Whether he did physical cleaning or not, I have no idea, but he was a good cook in his own right, and he probably did preliminary preparation for various meals and for the parties, certainly. Q: So might he have carried around plates, or who would have done that? Ferrone: Beard would hire extra help for these parties. Q: And the silver and plates would be laid out somewhere? Ferrone: Yes. Well, in two places, two apartments, he had his working space for his classes, and he had what he called his grand piano, which was a rather horseshoe-shaped array of stoves, stovetops, all electric. I don’t recall—at least in the first kitchen on 10th Street, his interior designer, Agnes White, had made for him panels to cover the stove for buffet so the food was— Q: In the first apartment? Ferrone: In the first apartment. The food was arrayed all around this horseshoe-shaped stove arrangement. Q: Some of them still in the pots they were cooked in or on platters, or how did that work? Ferrone: I don’t recall specifically how it was served. I said that he would have an enormous roast beef prepared for him by Leon Leonides of the Coach House and he’d have somebody there to slice it, carve it, and serve it on French bread. But he’d have at least two or three or four people serving on those occasions. Q: And was it done in an orderly course-by-course style, or no? Ferrone: No. No. Q: Just everything there? Ferrone: Everything there. Q: So with a large party, could you describe the kinds of things that might have been there? This big roast beef, would there have been several vegetable dishes or— Ferrone: There might have been vegetable dishes, crudités. I think I mentioned the fact that he often had smoked Polish sausages poached in red wine and sliced. And at one point when he knew someone who had a quail farm, he served bits of quail roasted, grilled. He served quail eggs. Q: That was pretty early for quail eggs, wasn’t it? Ferrone: Yes. But there were always a few surprise dishes, too, and always a feeling of great bounty. Q: What time did they start, more or less? Ferrone: Probably around six. Q: And it would go on— Ferrone: Go on to eight or nine. The whole idea behind his style of serving was to provide substantial food for the drinkers so they didn’t have to feel they would need to go on to a dinner afterwards. They could make a dinner out of whatever was there. Q: Were there sweets or desserts after? Ferrone: There were sweets also. Q: On the table at the same time? Ferrone: I couldn’t remember. Q: Was there a kind of organized conversation or people milled around? Ferrone: No, we just all milled around. Sometimes it was quite a crush. People would gravitate to the food, naturally. When he moved to the place on 12th Street, there were people downstairs and upstairs in a number of rooms. Q: Would people be allowed in the kitchen? Ferrone: Oh yes. That’s where the food was, and in the latter days, Jim would sit in his director’s chair with people milling about him. I can remember one occasion when he was probably close to eighty years old, it was a large party, it was a holiday, probably a Christmas party, and he had been dieting. He was standing up, and someone handed him a Christmas present. As he reached out to take it, his pants fell down, and everyone, including him, roared. But he had successfully dieted, apparently. Q: If people got an invitation to come to one of these dinners, how was that seen, as a great coup or a measure of friendship or what? Ferrone: Measure of friendship, largely, because you saw the same old gang each time. There might have been a few new faces, but we all knew one another. Q: Which actually brings me to another kind of questioning. Do you think he had good taste in people, the people he surrounded himself with, people who were good for him? Ferrone: Good taste. Well, some of them were colleagues in the food business. Some of them went back to his Portland days, like Ron and Isabel Callvert and Peggy Loesser. And there were sort of business associates, like the Aarons. It was a sort of a mixed bag. I don’t think he chose his guest list with any particular slant. It also included a woman named Sylvia Pedlar, who was a designer of lingerie, so it wasn’t always food-related. Q: How did he meet Sylvia? Ferrone: I have no idea, but she and her husband were certainly present at every party I ever went to, I think. Q: Were any of the young men he was involved with present at these dinners? Ferrone: Well, he wasn’t really involved with anybody until Cofacci came along, and he was certainly present because he lived there. Although Carl Jerome, who also lived in Beard’s house for a time, he helped Beard in his cooking school. Q: From your point of view in watching the different people that he worked with, would you think that any of them were particularly helpful to him? Were some of them better than others in terms of drawing him out or making him feel relaxed or just about anything? Ferrone: Well, I think they all did a good job with him. Isabel Callvert was the first, and she knew him quite well. She’d known him for a long period of time, so she knew his voice and knew what was expected of him. José Wilson was probably the most professional of all of us who worked with him. Q: You mean in terms of training or what? Ferrone: Her background, her long association with House and Garden as food editor. She was a good writer and a strong personality. She could handle Jim. Q: Could you describe the process when you worked with him on books, how that happened? What came first? How did it proceed? Ferrone: Well, as I said earlier, in the beginning days he used to pound out a rough draft of his articles on his portable typewriter, very rough indeed, but containing all the necessary ingredients. Occasionally, he would just hand me the draft for me to work on. We didn’t necessarily discuss anything. I would go to work on it, polish it up, hand it back to him, and then I would hear nothing, assuming that what I had done was satisfactory. Occasionally he would write to me and tell me what he wanted to get out of the article, what sort of feeling he wanted to project. Q: Could you remember enough to describe one of those? Ferrone: Well, I was thinking of an introduction to a book on cooking utensils that was published by Wolf Glaser Beard, and Jim was writing the introduction for it. He wanted to start it off by saying that he grew up in the iron age of cooking; in other words, his mother cooked in iron. So he told me the kind of feeling he wanted to inject in this piece about the early days of cooking. Q: Literally the early days of cooking? Ferrone: I mean early in his own life. But that was rare. Occasionally he would do that with a given piece, but normally I would just be handed a rough draft to work on. I might send it back to him and say that it needed clarification or additional material. It may have passed between us a couple of times. But later on he would talk his piece into a tape machine, and then his secretary would transcribe it. Q: What about the recipes that went along with those pieces? Would he have them written down somewhere and incorporate them, or would he actually dictate recipes as well? Ferrone: He would dictate the recipes as well. Q: Interesting. Ferrone: And, of course, we were kitchen testing all the time too. Not necessarily because I was asked to, but because I was intrigued enough to kitchen test. Q: And when you were kitchen testing, was the idea that the readers of whatever publication would then definitely be able to follow it? I mean, were the readers’ strengths kept in mind? Ferrone: Yes. I made sure that the instructions were clear enough for any cook to follow. Q: That wasn’t something he was particularly interested in or— Ferrone: Well, he was, yes, but it was up to me to tell him if it wasn’t clear enough. Q: So testing would have been very helpful in that respect? Ferrone: Yes. Q: Of the books that you worked on with him, was any one of them more of a pleasure or more of a chore than any of the others? Ferrone: Well, American Cookery went on for four years, so that was a chore, though it was exciting at the same time. Q: Exciting because? Ferrone: Because of the nature of the material, all the research he had done on the early cookbook writers. Menus for Entertaining was the closest we came to a collaboration. I think it was my idea to begin with, the concept for the book, and I really outlined it for him. In other words, I gave him the various chapters, and he filled in the blanks, so to speak. But I think he enjoyed working on that book, and I did too. I’m trying to think where we were writing part of that. We might have started that in France. Delights and Prejudices we finished up in the south of France, that is for sure. That was a pleasure to work on, although, as I said, the actual manuscript on onionskin single-spaced was not a pleasure to work with. Q: You started to mention before that this collaboration was not exactly face to face most of the time; it was pieces of paper in between both of you. Ferrone: Yes. Q: How you would describe that pattern? Ferrone: Beard and I, I don’t think ever sat down to discuss a piece. I would drop by and pick up the rough draft from his secretary and deliver it the same way. Q: Do you know if he’d done any initial testing before that? Ferrone: Oh, I’m sure he was testing the whole time. Q: Why? I mean, why are you sure? Ferrone: Because I was there for some of the— Q: I see, yes. Ferrone: —for the experiments, and he would sometimes ask me to test something for him if we were working on a piece. Q: What was his attitude toward a new book, generally speaking? Was it excitement or worried or arduous in the sense that a huge amount of work had to be done? When there was a new project, how was he likely to react to it? Ferrone: I don’t know. I think he approached it in a very workmanlike way. Q: Do you think any of them gave him more pleasure than any of the others? Ferrone: It’d be hard to say. Q: I just wondered if it showed. Along those lines, I know he obviously talked about food, but was he constantly talking about food or what? Ferrone: We talked about food a lot. As I said earlier, food people talked about food. And if I called him on the phone, he always wanted to know what I was going to eat that night for dinner or what I had eaten the night before, or what I was going to serve if I had guests coming. He was interested to that degree in food, but he was also interested in a great many other things. Q: Some of the clips that I’ve read about him said that he had—and I think in the Clark book, too, it describes a good instinct for knowing what the public wanted at a particular time or what might resonate with the public at a particular time. Does that strike you as accurate? Ferrone: That doesn’t sound like him at all. I don’t think he thought in terms of responding to public need. I think he was the leader. He set the trends. I don’t think he thought it out in that way, in a marketing way. That wasn’t his style and that wasn’t his approach to food. Q: You mean doing what was trendy? Ferrone: Yes. Q: No, I wouldn’t think so. Did he ever come to your country house? Ferrone: Yes, two or three times. Q: For something special or— Ferrone: Well, all our calls came certainly at the height of the summer season when the vegetable season, especially when the garden was overflowing. I have pictures of him lugging a basket loaded with tomatoes and other vegetables. We had a good time together, very relaxed. We cooked together. I have a fairly spacious kitchen in the country. On one occasion, I know I had other guests when he was there, and we did a loin of pork roast stuffed with prunes and a smoked loin of pork roast stuffed with dried apricots. Q: Why do you think you remember that? Was it a lot of people? Ferrone: There might have been three or four other guests. I think that was when he’d just stopped by. He’d been doing a demonstration at Boscov’s department store in Redding. Q: To do a demonstration or to sign? Ferrone: He did a demonstration, and they sold, I think, eight hundred copies of The James Beard Cookbook. Q: At Boscov’s? Ferrone: Yes. Q: Was that because his personality was particularly winning or that he gave them confidence about cooking or what? Ferrone: It was just a well-organized event. Q: I see. That sounds right. That’s very funny. Ferrone: He did these cooking demonstrations all across the country for a good deal of time with his helper, Ruth Norman. He was a busy man. He traveled a good deal for food demonstrations associated with the cooking school, but then he also did demonstrations for the Cognac industry, in which he flamed an awful lot of food. I can’t think of another food authority who was active in so many ways, cooking schools, the cross-country demonstrations, consultant to restaurants and to the food industry, television appearances, and cookbook writing. He was a very busy man. Q: Do you know if he had favorite restaurants in New York or the Village? Ferrone: Oh, he did. Uptown he liked QuoVadis a lot. I don’t think it exists any longer. Q: He liked the food or the atmosphere? Ferrone: Both, and the reception. Here in the Village he liked the Coach House, where he knew Leon Leonides very well and was given a great welcome. I can remember going there with him for Christmas Eve or Christmas dinner on several occasions. Q: Any smaller places that he liked? Ferrone: Well, he used to like that Italian restaurant called Grand Ticino, which he tried to buy at one point. Q: Why? Ferrone: He wanted a restaurant of his own. The deal was almost all set, and then the owner backed out at the last minute, and he was terribly disappointed. Then he went on the hunt for a restaurant all over the place. He went to Maryland. He was constantly after Helen Evans Brown to go into the restaurant business with him, and nothing ever came of it. Q: Why do you think he wanted to do that? Surely he knew how difficult and expensive running a restaurant was. Ferrone: Well, he might have seen it as a challenge, but he was just drawn to it. He managed a restaurant on Nantucket one summer, it was in 1953, which may have provided the spark. Q: Let me ask you about the homosexuality issue in terms of—let’s just say things were very different then, and sexual preference simply wasn’t mentioned, and people weren’t as comfortable being out in the open with what they were as certainly they are now. What was his attitude about that, as far as you could tell? Ferrone: Well, we really didn’t talk about it. Just taken for granted. I think he was lonely a good deal of the time. But in his earlier days, I think he took some risks. Q: So also those opera desires didn’t go away either. That’s very funny. I guess you just said in the early days he took some risks in terms of who he was associating with. Did he just give that up? Ferrone: He gave it up. I think he must have come to his senses. And then Cofacci arrived on the scene. He was a much younger man, a would-be architect who went into the food business, became a professional baker, provided dacquoise and chocolate cakes to a couple of restaurants. Q: Was Beard happier at that time? Ferrone: Well, maybe initially, but Cofacci became a burden. He was just a childish, self-centered person. Q: Did his friends comment about that to him? Ferrone: Well, it was very touchy. I mean, his friends knew that Beard was having difficulty with Cofacci, but didn’t dare comment on it directly. Q: Why not? Ferrone: Because Beard was, at the same time, very protective. You know how that can be. He could criticize Cofacci, but no one else could. He was very protective. I used to get annoyed with Jim, because I would invite them here for dinner, and Jim would go home, and an hour later the phone would ring, and Jim would say, “Well, Mr. Cofacci had a good time,” when all I cared about was whether Mr. Beard had had a good time. Q: Yes, exactly. [laughs] What would you say? Ferrone: Well, I made the proper noises. Q: Was it at all daunting to cook for him? Ferrone: Oh, initially, but afterwards, it was fun. He was very easy to be with and very appreciative of anyone who cooked for him. I can show you my kitchen and show you the space the two of us operated in. Q: Good. I’ll take a look afterward. Actually, when I was asking you about the restaurants, I forgot to ask you, did the owners comp most of the meals? Ferrone: Yes. Q: Was that done in those days? Ferrone: It was done in those days, and I think Beard expected it. Q: And they didn’t seem to mind? Ferrone: No. They were eager to have him there as a showpiece. I went with him countless times to restaurants where he was comped. Q: The wine, everything? Ferrone: Wine, everything. Q: And what would he do about tipping? Ferrone: Leave a good tip. Q: In that circumstance, yes. You’ve described the way you worked together. It would be different when he was alone in a kitchen with somebody, but when people were helping him with books, do you think that that process remained the same in terms of him giving some ideas and somebody else putting it into shape than back and forth? Ferrone: I would think so. I have no idea how he worked with José and Irene Sax, but I think he would have operated quite the same way. Q: You think that was because he could concentrate better by himself, or what? Ferrone: It was easier just to talk the article into a machine. Later on, in his very latest years, we were all trying to get another book out of him, essays on particular foods. We all took turns trying to extract material from him. I tried; Judith Jones tried; I think Irene tried. We didn’t get very far, but he talked about his love of potatoes, for example. There are tapes in existence. I think Barbara Kafka was involved, too, and I think that she used some of the material that he finally came up with, but he was just beyond the point when he could really produce anything more. Q: This is a big question, but I’m wondering if you could think about how he changed your life, what your life would have been without having met him, either in terms of the things he discussed that you might not have thought about or the people he introduced you to or anything like that. Ferrone: Well, I think this apartment reflects Beard. Q: How so? Ferrone: Because I started off with three sticks of furniture, and I came from California, where I probably was more inclined to the arts and crafts style of furnishing, and I think it was Beard’s love of antiques that got me started on antiquing and collecting Japanese and Chinese porcelain. And then of course his influence in terms of food and entertaining was tremendous. I’d say he’s one of the two or three great influences in my life. Q: Could you talk a little bit about the apartment? Would he go to antique stores with you? Would he suggest certain purchases? Was he careful of your feelings? Ferrone: We gave each other antiques for Christmas. I can remember antiquing with him in San Francisco, and we would spot things. I remember in San Francisco, I spotted an enormous tea caddy, old tea caddy, with my initial on it, for Formosa tea, I think it was, and Jim said, “I’ll give it to you for Christmas.” So he had it shipped back. Then when I was in London one year, I went to an antique store in Chelsea and I saw the roof tile which is behind your head. Q: That’s pretty extraordinary. Ferrone: Yes. And it was well priced. When I came back, Jim said, “Did you see anything you liked?” And I said, “Yes, I saw this roof tile at Loot.” So he was going over to London, and so he bought it for me and had it shipped back. So we were constantly looking for presents for each other. Q: And as you assembled this apartment and its contents and everything, did he help you at all or just inspire your— Ferrone: Inspired me, and his interior decorator, Agnes White, was a great help. He gave me a handsome desk, which is in the other room. It was really an early nineteenth century pantry table that was converted into a desk, French. He bought it from Lord & Taylor, I think. He couldn’t get his knees under it, so it got put in storage, and when I moved here, he donated it to me. And he always gave me dishes too. Q: Why was that? Ferrone: Well, either he had too many and was disposing of them, things he lost interest in. I have a couple of wonderful sets of Ironstone, for example. Or else he went abroad and bought enormous quantities himself and shared them. Q: Maybe we could stop for a second and show me the kitchen.\ Q: Can you tell me how you found out that he had left you his royalties? Ferrone: Well, shortly after he died, I had a call from the Beard House. It was his executor. I think it was Morrie Galen. Morris Galen, who said that he and a couple of people from the bank who was handling the estate, Manufacturer’s Hanover, I believe it was, wanted to come by to see me. And about three or four of them trooped in and told me I was the beneficiary, and I was just stunned. I thought Beard might have left me royalties for one book that we had done together, American Cookery, but it was an enormous surprise. Q: And what about his library? What happened to that? Ferrone: It was sold at auction. It went to—Doyle, is that right? Q: Yes. Ferrone: Doyle handled the estate sale. Q: Did his friends try to buy any of the books? I mean, I realize they must have tried to buy some of the physical things as well. Ferrone: Yes. The sale went on for one night and the next day. I think the library sale took place in the evening. I didn’t attend, so I didn’t witness it. Q: You didn’t attend either one of them? Ferrone: I attended the one the next day and bought that Chinese hanging portrait behind the sofa, and I bought some Majolica. Q: Because you admired them, because you wanted to have something of his taste, or what? Ferrone: I thought it was very handsome. Q: Yes, they’re pretty great. Ferrone: It was given to him by his childhood friend, Mary Hamblett. I offered to send it back to her, but she declined to have it. Q: Since we’re at this dining room table, when he would come here to have dinner with you, how would that work? Where would he be? Would he sit at the head of the table or it didn’t matter? Ferrone: He probably would sit there. Q: At the head of the table. Ferrone: At the head of the table. I would sit there, closest to the kitchen. This table might have been smaller. If I took the leaves out, it might have been more intimate. And Cofacci would probably be with him, and my friend Johan would be here, probably. On one occasion, New Year’s Day dinner, I had him and Helen McCully to dinner. I also had José Wilson here with him. Q: Did he like to be surrounded by his friends? Ferrone: Oh yes. I couldn’t think of a more convivial person. Q: In a situation like this, would he have dominated the conversation, or what? Ferrone: [unclear] intimate, four people. Q: Four or six, yes. Ferrone: Probably he would have dominated. Q: And was there any particular angle toward his conversation? Would it be cultural, political, or— Ferrone: No, I couldn’t categorize it in any way. Q: Let me ask you how you felt in the weeks leading up to his death, when people knew he was so ill and then when he died. Ferrone: I went to visit him in the hospital. He was—well, it was very distressing. He was in such discomfort, and we knew he was going. I had to go off to the West Coast, I think, for a sales conference, and I think by the time I got back, he had died. There was a small loyal group around him at the last. Q: Who would that have been? Ferrone: Barbara Kafka. Now, who was the restaurateur of that American place? Larry Forgione. Caroline Stuart, and Gino, I think. Q: And when you describe that small group, you mean who might have gotten together after his—no? Ferrone: No, just the people who appeared at the hospital. Q: Which hospital was it? Ferrone: New York Hospital. What is it called? Up at 65th and— Q: You said he was gone by the time you got back, but did anybody do anything? Ferrone: He left instructions he didn’t want any memorial service, he didn’t want anything to go on to memorialize him. So, nothing. Nothing happened. There was no gathering. Q: How did that feel? Ferrone: Well, frustrating in a way. There’s no way of expressing sorrow. And there was no one to express it to, no family. Q: And did the Thames and Hudson books come after that, after his death? Ferrone: Oh yes. Q: So he continued to play a part—why don’t you describe the way he and his books continued to play a part in your life after his death. Ferrone: Well, he once said to me that I would know what to do with them, so it was my job as keeper of the flame to, one, keep them in print, keep them updated where necessary, and to create new material if possible. I know I did the collection of letters to Helen Evans Brown and The Armchair James Beard. Q: The Halo of Truffles, is that what you meant? Ferrone: Yes. Q: You did that with that in mind? Ferrone: With what in mind? Q: Creating new material. Ferrone: Well, it fell into my lap. I didn’t know that these letters existed or were accessible, but once I saw what I had, I realized that they needed to be shared. Q: So he continued really to play a role in your life? Ferrone: And still does. Q: How would you describe that? Ferrone: I work with a literary agent in trying to keep the books in print. And not too long ago, I discovered that the first part of the taped interview with him that I mentioned to you, and told Susan Ungaro at the Beard Foundation about it, and she was intrigued. They transcribed it and put it on their website, the Beard Foundation website, and also printed a portion of it in one of their bulletins. Q: Do you think there’s still stuff left to find? Ferrone: Possibly. Halo of Truffles consisted of Jim’s letters to Helen Evans Brown. I think I may have said that it took me two years to date the letters, because they were all undated. Eventually, I decided to tackle Helen Evans Brown’s letters as well, with the help of her husband, Phil Brown. Once I had those dated, I realized what a tremendous thing it would be to have the conversation back and forth, and I turned it into a reading, adapted the material, took it to the only producer that I knew in New York, Arthur Kantor. He was interested immediately. We talked of trying to do a dry run at some restaurant, possibly with two professional actors, just to test the waters. We couldn’t seem to get things put together. Arthur died, and I’ve been peddling that reading ever since. That was about a dozen years ago. It’s most recently in the hands of a woman I used to work with, who was the vice president of United Artists and who lives in California. She’s been trying to produce it. But it exists, and it’s one thing I would like to see happen before I go to my maker. Q: I think we can stop now. Thank you so much, John. This has really been wonderful. Ferrone: Thank you, Judy, for listening. [End of interview] Ferrone – 2 - PAGE 18